Finding Four
by Clearly Clayr
Summary: It was hard to imagine a time and place where Hogwarts did not exist. Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Gryffindor were determined to do something about the disarray that was sweeping Britain.
1. Chapter 1

Finding Four

The history of the Wizarding World was a piece of clay that had been shaped throughout many centuries. Great witches and wizards carefully molded a delicate balance into it, while others left a dent, marring the smooth surface. Though these impressions all had their impact, whether good or evil, one fact would always linger, strong and certain.

Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Godric Gryffindor were the potters. They were the essence of all things magical, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that the four had shaped the world as everyone knew it.

No one alive could imagine a Britain without Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It would have been like taking the butter from the bread, the horse from its rider. Everyone assumed that the fortress was immortal, that it had no beginning and would have no end.

No matter how time seems to ignore something, every story has a beginning. As the story of Hogwarts began to unfold, Britain was falling into various states of disarray, and young Rowena Ravenclaw could be found mourning the death of her sister…

The mountains were delicately capped with snow, standing out against the clear, blue sky. The wind whispered to the trees, ruffling their fresh green leaves. It seemed cruel and ironic that the sun could smile so brightly when Revera Ravenclaw had just been laid to rest.

A black veil hung over Rowena Ravenclaw's thin, tear-streaked face. In spite of the occasion, she was still vain enough to be grateful for the way the veil obscured her face; she could see, through the tears that clung to her eyelashes, that the other funeral goers were watching her. They cast guarded glances over their shoulders as they parted. Despite her sorrow, Rowena felt a feeling of mild disgust rise; the people had only shown up at Revera's funeral out of curiosity. A new branch of magic had been tapped. Someone had invented ways to kill people with _words_. People from all over Britain had flocked to the funeral to see the effects this curse had.

"Rowena?" asked a kind voice. Rowena snapped out of her reclusive thoughts to look over at the round, pleasant face of Helga Hufflepuff. Her usually bright appearance had been dulled by bleak funeral garb. Her gray eyes were wet with tears. Something about the sight of her lifted Rowena's spirits.

"'Twas kind of you to come," Rowena said politely. "My heart can tell that you are but one of the few who came to pay respects…"

Rowena felt her throat constrict, and she heaved a hearty, sputtering sob. She had never been good at controlling her emotions. She understood spells, potions, and theories with a competence most of her elders did not. There was just something so complicated about the way her heart worked with her mind.

Helga lifted the black veil that shadowed her face, and allowed the use of her shoulder as a handkerchief.

"There, there," she cooed soothingly. "I know you loved Revera, we all did, but—"

"'Tis an insult to her memory to have these stragglers look upon her!" Rowena said fiercely, pulling away from Helga's friendly embrace. "You know quite well that this lot was only present to see what had become of the body. They cannot comprehend it, Helga. Do they not realize that Revera was not the first, and shall not be the last?"

Helga's expression lost what little hope it had held before. Indeed, she understood the grueling times that were to plague the world. She realized, perhaps more so than her young friend, that the funeral was the inauguration of a dreadful era. Despite their magical abilities, people had begun to doubt. They doubted in themselves, doubted in their friends, doubted humankind.

"Do not expect them to comprehend," Helga said. "For not even you, Rowena, in all your intellect, can grasp the meaning of death."

Rowena did not respond. Instead, she fixed her sights on Revera's grave, desperately clinging to a thin strand of hope. If, perhaps, she worked hard enough, could she create a spell to give back the life that had been taken away by this new curse?

The wind flirted with her long, dark hair, sweeping the veil over her face. Gazing into the distance, Rowena felt her life as she knew it being taken away by the wind.

Days ago, she had dipped her bare toes into the icy water of the river, while Revera had been daring enough to hike up her skirts and wade into the knee-deep waters. They had picked wildflowers to hang in their chambers. Rowena could recall placing several of the flowers on her pillow. She had fallen asleep peacefully, taking in their sweet perfume. Now, the flowers sat atop her sister's grave.

"They've gotten out of hand," Rowena said softly.

"Begging your pardon?" Helga asked.

"The witches and wizards," Rowena breathed. "They've lost control of their magic. Their powers, their thirst for greatness… it's running away with their morals and minds."

Helga was silent, contemplative.

"If only there had been someone had taught them how to control their gifts."

"Yes," Rowena repeated. "If only someone had taught them."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two 

Dusk rolled in slowly, painting the sky with pastel colors. The sun was settling behind the mountains, making room for the moon in the sky. It was against this picturesque backdrop in the glen that the Ravenclaw estates had been nestled in the center of the small valley where several small gardens and arbors were enjoying the season's prosperous weather.

From a large window in the wooden house, a blinding flash of yellow light erupted. Rowena was slumped over a mahogany writer's desk, her face buried in her hands.

It had been a fortnight since the death of Revera, yet Rowena, wrapped in black from head to toe, still clung to a threadbare hope that she could unmask death's secrets.

Spellbooks were littered haphazardly over the room, their pages torn in frustration. Pieces of crumpled parchment accompanied the books, and were dangerously close to the fire. The great, usually neat room had been painted the same deep blue as the neglected bedcovers. Bronze framed the room's windows and doors, gleaming in the dim light.

A knock on the door caused Rowena to rise from her drowsy stupor; she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror before turning to answer the door. Purple bags drooped beneath her blue eyes, which had dulled to the equivalent of murky pools of water. Stray strands of dark hair, casting a certain dark shadow over her appearance, framed her slim face. She looked much older than a girl of nineteen.

The thick door momentarily disappeared, and the image of a woman in gray faded in and out.

"You may enter," Rowena sighed, flicking her wand. A lock clicked open, and Helga Hufflepuff stepped into the room, her kind face etched with worry. She carried a tray loaded with bread and butter. A pitcher of water and a goblet floated near her elbow.

"You appear malnourished," Helga said, glancing at Rowena and shoving the tray on the desk. The knife automatically sliced and buttered the bread; the pitcher tipped the water into the goblet.

Though she wasn't hungry, Rowena accepted the food. She knew better than to argue with Helga over petty matters. Once Helga had her mind set on something, there was no way to talk her out of it. So Rowena ate quietly, while Helga stood next to her with her arms crossed.

"There were inquiries today in the village," Helga said conversationally. "About you."

Rowena appeared indifferent, and sipped the water from the goblet with a slight grimace.

"Folks have heard of your skills," Helga continued. "Even out of the valley, word of your magic has reached the ears of Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin."

Rowena set down the goblet she held in her hand. The pitcher automatically refilled it. Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were rapidly gaining fame in Britain. Gryffindor's family had been wiped out by a band of rebellious warlocks that had been ravaging the countryside for months. It was rumored that Gryffindor had sought out the rebels, and had dealt with them accordingly.

The Slytherin family had recently brought into effect a loose system of government for the magical world. While no singular figure headed this administration, the Slytherin family had passed a number of laws that brought strict punishments upon those that exploited the use of magic. Salazar Slytherin had been the leader in a movement that called for the construction of a fortress to house criminals.

"A messenger was sent to extend to me an invitation," Helga said, looking slightly curious to see how Rowena would respond. "Requesting my presence at the home of Salazar Slytherin tomorrow evening."

"Oh," Rowena said. She felt something churn in the pit of her stomach. She knew what was coming next. "Helga, I really—"

"I've assured this young man that you, too, would be present," Helga said firmly, as though her word was final. "I've consulted with your father, and he has kindly arranged for a carriage to escort us to Slytherin's home in the fen."

Rowena had a fleeting thought of feigning illness. It would be easy enough to create a potion that would give her the appearance of being deathly ill, though no permanent harm would be done. Parties and private meetings had never struck a chord on Rowena. Helga had always been the social one, the one who had a way with words and people. She was kind, and always had a way of understanding.

Stoic, reclusive Rowena had always found it easier to keep to herself. Instead of talking about whatever bothered her, she kept a journal, and occasionally took an introspective look at her writings. When she read a new book, she was whisked off to a place where her problems didn't exist. She put her emotions into the new spells she was frequently creating.

"Rowena," Helga whispered, putting a warm hand on her shoulder. "This is going to be important… Slytherin and Gryffindor know what's happening to the peace in this world. They want to stop more terrible things from happening."

Silence greeted Helga's attempt at reaching Rowena.

"Do you not want to help?"

Though she couldn't put her finger on what it was, Rowena felt something in her soul cry out. _I'm the one who needs help!_ it screamed. She was breaking, and she knew it.

"I do," she said slowly. "I want to help, but what can a girl of nineteen do to make a difference in the world? What could I do?"

Helga took her firmly by the shoulders, and looked her directly in the eye. Even if Rowena had tried, there would have been know way she could have drawn her gaze from Helga's gray eyes.

"Then come with me to Slytherin's!"

It felt so reckless to place herself in fate's fragile fingers. It would be a blind leap of faith, like jumping off the mountain and hoping to be able to fly. Could she let go of her selfish fears and leap?

"All right," Rowena said timidly. "I'll go."


End file.
